Classic Poem

From a pathway of quiet unstirred by commotion,
From the forests of green to the dwellings of brown,
In quest of the river, in quest of the ocean,
The Ottawa waters come peacefully down
And, here by the town,
Throw aside the dull gown
Of their up-river green
For the shine and the sheen
And the gossamer glory of rapids that run,
For the glitter of jewels that flash in the sun.
Here they leap
From their sleep
And in majesty sweep
Through a gateway of stone, through the cataract's lair,
Where the leonine rocks shake the mist from their hair
And startle the shore
With the roar
Of Chaudiere.

From the hush of the forest where censers are swinging,
Where the lilies unfold and the wild roses bloom,
In quest of the world where the saw-song is singing,
The Ottawa timber comes down to the boom;
And here waits the flume
Frothing white with the spume,
Frothing white with the spray
Of the waters at play.
Now the channel is opened that leads to the slide,
And now safe by the rapids the timber-cribs glide.
Just a flash
And a crash
And a plunge and a splash
In the calm of the stream where the waters run fair —
And all vainly the rocks in their mid-river lair
Shall threaten them more
With the roar
Of Chaudiere.

From the land of the forest, the cabins dim-lighted,
From the camp in the woodland asleep in the sun,
In quest of the world that in dreams they have sighted
The men of the shanties come down for their fun,
Come down ev'ry one
When the wild work is done
As the river at play
Leaps to ripples and spray
When it sniffs the St. Lawrence and glimpses the goal
Where the salt breezes freshen and long billows roll.
To be free
As the sea
Ev'ry man longs to be
'Mid the lights of the town, 'mid the smiles of the fair —
Then what shall the sturdy young shantyman care
Though tremble the shore
With the roar
Of Chaudiere?

But the years hurry by and the years hurry onward,
The ax-stroke is busy on hill and in glen;
As fade the pale stars when the night travels dawnward,
The trees in the sky tumble earthward again.
They shall vanish — and then
Shall the shoutings of men
Diminish and die
Where the waters run high.
O you maid in the town, hold your shantyman dear
For the men of the river shall vanish from here.
They shall sweep
To the deep
Where the centuries sleep
And shall leave but a kiss and a memory fair,
Like the waters that flow to the mystic Out There,
Returning no more
To the shore
Of Chaudiere.